About Isobel
by TerribleKate
Summary: Itty bitty drabbles centered around Izzie. Drabble six: Breathe.
1. Grief

**A/N: I went to a funeral yesterday. For someone who died way, way, way, way, way too early. A baby. A little tiny person that didn't even experience the taste of his first birthday cake. And it's stupid and it's wrong and I can't get it out of my head.**

**So this drabble was born. I'm embarassed by it, because it's so depressy and mopey. But I'm proud of it too, simply because it is exactly one hundred words. It took forever to edit it to that word count, so I am basking in the tiny little flame of success. **

**Anyways, here we are:**

Grief is isolating, because it feels contagious. This is not spoken, but it is fact. Sadness is percieved as a fatal virus; no one gets close to her, for fear of contracting her disease. Isobel understands and doesn't blame anyone for allowing the thought to cross their mind. Because death is a cruel reminder that we are not untouchable; no one wants to acknowledge this.

But tonight Isobel is being held by warm arms. A body occupies the spot where her lover's ghost usually rests. His touch is familiar and safe and lovely.

She is infecting him. He doesn't care.

**A/N: Just in case it wasn't clear, that was Izzie/Alex, at some point after the death of Denny.**

**By the way, ****there will be more of these, a'la TehFuzzyPenguin's Addison masterpiece (The name escapes me. Sorry!). They won't be as good, obviously, but they're fun to write.****  
**


	2. Pink

**A/N: Still gloomy. **

Isobel's dress is pink.

It is pink and it is lovely and it swooshes when she walks. It is what a princess would wear to a royal ball. And it is what she would have worn to an August wedding on the beach. It is pink and it is gorgeous and it catches her eye every time time she passes a mirror. It makes her feel unbearably divine. It makes her want to dance.

It is pink and it happy. And it is so wrong, she wants to scream. Because Isobel's dress is pink. And everyone else is wearing black.


	3. Kittens and Birds

**A/N: I am going to be late for work because of this one. Heh.**

She walks through the livingroom naked, with his toothbrush in her mouth. He covers his eyes and and throws a blanket in her direction. Like he's not used to this by now.

She laughs. The way she always laughs around him. It is bubbly and loud and comfortable.

Because he is George, and he makes he feel good. He is goofy and lovely. He is quiet. He thinks more often than he speaks. He buys her tampons.

Isobel wonders what she did to deserve someone like him.

Perhaps she had been kind to kittens and birds in a previous life.

**A/N: Did anyone catch the incredibly obvious reference to Regina Spektor? Please tell me you did. **


	4. Birthday Girl

**A/N: I wanted a drabble to touch on Izzie's optimism and her the fact that she's almost unnaturally trusting. It somehow turned into a drabble about her childhood. Hmm.**

**Oh, by the way: if you're following _Sweet Baby_, be ready. The new chapter is coming.  
**

At six o'clock, Isobel sticks seven pink candles on a pink cake. She places a plastic tiara on her head. Her mother would be getting home soon, and they would have a party.

At nine o'clock, Isobel starts to get antsy, as little girls do when waiting to start a celebration. But it's alright, because she's sure that her mother has just stopped to get ice cream.

At midnight, the door opens and yellow light spills onto the linoleum.

"Mama!"

"Not tonight, Cricket."

"But..."

"Not _tonight_."

Isobel nods and removes her tiara. They'll have the party tomorrow, she's sure.


	5. Pink, again

**A/N: **** I'm ****procrastinating.**** I've got a story that needs a new chapter, a story that needs a _first_ chapter, and (most importantly) a screenplay that needs to be finished in 19 days. Oh, the life of a wannabe writer. **

The gas station bathroom is cramped and smells like sewage. The walls are covered in...well, she doesn't know and she doesn't care to guess. She can practically see the germs on the grimy porcelain toilet, so she opts to stand. Isobel has never had great aim, but it's her only option.

When she is done, she places the dripping stick on the edge of the sink. She sets her watch.

_:59_

Blue is good, according to the pamphlet. God, let it be blue.

_:30_

Blue. Be blue. Please, be blue.

_:10_

She bites her lip.

_Beep_.

Oh, fuck. Not blue.

**A/N: Review or I might _die_.**


	6. Breathe

**A/N: Still procrastinating. **

_Inhale. _

_Exhale._

_Breathe._

Isobel scrawls these instructions in tiny print on the inside of her wrist, because she fears that she'll continue tamping the stale air in her lungs if she's not reminded to let it out. She knows it's selfish, the way she's behaving, since it is her friend's day. But still, she finds it hard to look at Cristina without feeling ill.

Because Cristina whines about it, as if this is something she has to _endure_. She doesn't get it.

Isobel gets it, and yet she's not the one walking down the aisle.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Breathe. _

**A/N: This one was hard to edit and I'm unhappy with it. Hmph. **


End file.
